Bishop as Pawn

simple.

Now, out of the blue, here was Quirt with a story that blew the pieces in every which direction.

“Has Father Carleson confessed to any of this?” Koznicki asked.

“No.” Quirt seemed unconcerned by the priest’s denial.

“His explanation for all this?”

“Well,” Quirt began, “he was smart enough not to deny that he went out last night. See, there was a service for the bishop in Ste. Anne’s church last night. Carleson didn’t attend. But after the service, some of the priests got together in the rectory. Carleson had no way of knowing whether any of the priests would go to his room-see how he was, that sort of thing. Since Carleson was out murdering that patient, he couldn’t claim he was in his room. Someone easily could’ve known that he wasn’t home-”

“So,” Tully broke in, “if he didn’t claim to be home, where did he say he was?”

“A sick call.” Quirt was near laughter. “He claims he got a call about 11:30. He and the bishop shared a private line. He claims someone called and gave him an address on McKinstry near Clark Park … said there was a dying woman there who asked specifically for him. Says he went immediately.”

“And,” Koznicki said, “at the house, is there anyone who can corroborate?”

Quirt smirked. “No such address, Carleson says. He says he drove to the spot where the house should be. The address he says he was given doesn’t exist. Says he drove around for a while. He thought maybe the guy had been confused and had given him the wrong numbers. He went up and down the street looking to see if he could find any commotion. Maybe somebody on a porch looking for him. Maybe an EMS truck. After all, the guy said the woman was dying; maybe the guy called 911 after calling him.

“Anyway, that’s what he says. A whole load of hospital people say something different. They put him at the scene of what Doc Moellmann says was a homicide.

“What we got here, obviously,” Quirt concluded, “is a real wacko priest. You remember, Walt-you okayed the voucher-we got Williams at Maryknoll HQ in New York checking for anything fishy in Carleson’s background. As time goes on, we need that less and less. Now we know we got a priest who sees a bishop making life miserable for a lot of people-hell, maybe that’s what bishops do. So, what does Carleson do about it? He offs the bishop and tries to make it look like a B and E. But he doesn’t realize he’s got the bishop’s blood splashed in his car.

“So he’s indicted. But he makes bail. Now he’s got a poor old duck who just won’t die. So what does Father Carleson do? Even though he just got out of jail on a murder charge, he puts a pillow or something over the old geezer’s face and smothers him. It’s supposed to be a natural death. But Carleson forgets that a good number of hospital personnel can recognize him. And they do. On top of that, he doesn’t know that the method of murder he used leaves evidence-evidence that Doc Moellmann found.

“We got a wacko priest. He goes around killing people who cause problems.” Quirt’s voice rose. “This guy is damn dangerous!”

Koznicki appeared-reluctantly-convinced. “What action have you taken?”

Quirt hesitated. Before reporting to Koznicki, he had called Kleimer. In retrospect, that didn’t seem a smart move. He hadn’t done this by the numbers. So he mentally erased a few moves and hoped he could retrace a few steps. “I think we have to contact the prosecutor.”

Koznicki would have wagered his last dollar that Quirt had already briefed Kleimer.

Perhaps it was the expression on their faces or their overall reaction to his news; Quirt had the impression that Tully and Mangiapane had also been talking to Koznicki about the Diego case.

Why were they in Koznicki’s office? Even more, why weren’t they at all enthusiastic about the final nails in Carleson’s coffin?

At length, Tully spoke. “I’m afraid we have an embarrassment of riches. We’ve got the Diego killer!”

“What!” It was Quirt’s turn.

Tully explained, with some patience, how he had come upon his version of Diego’s murderer. Patience was required in the fact of Quirt’s frequent protestations that the case had been closed and the task force dissolved yesterday-as in, “How could you continue working the streets? The case is closed!”

Finally, Tully managed to complete his explanation.

“One thing seems clear, gentlemen,” Koznicki said. “We have two disparate and distinct suspects in the murder of one man. They could not both have done it.”

“Look, George,” Tully said, “from the beginning of the case we’ve been torturing the flow of the investigation to try to come up with a priest suspect.”

This statement stung Quirt-because it was true. Kleimer wanted the scenario to read, Bishop killed by priest. That way lay global headlines. But Quirt would refuse to admit the truth even if now he was sincerely convinced they had the right man in Carleson.

Tully continued. “If we had let the evidence lead us, we would have seen it as a street crime. Someone who knew Diego kept a significant stash on hand just got in, killed the bishop, and stole the money. It was that simple. And the guy who did it is Julio Ramirez.”

“And where did that name come from?” Quirt immediately answered his own question. “From Tony Wayne- Mr. Crime of the Metropolitan area. What a fantastically reliable source! And that’s it: You got no eyewitness or confession. And if this guy croaks, you don’t even have a suspect.

“Where we got the killer priest. The kind of ink he’s been getting up to now makes him look like a male Mother Teresa. So he helps us by offing the poor old vegetable in Receiving. If there wasn’t anything else going down, Carleson certainly would be in Jacktown for the Demers killing. But now he’s gonna be sent up for Demers and Diego. Or,” he nodded at Tully, “do you have another explanation for the Demers murder?”

Tully wished to high heaven that he had some reasonable, credible explanation for the idiotic, self-destructive action taken by Father Carleson last night. But Tully could find nothing that would explain away the killing of Demners. So the lieutenant sat and steamed.

There was a short period of silence during which Quirt savored his victory.

“George, you had better inform the prosecuting attorney,” Koznicki said finally. “They will want to get a judge to revoke bail. And then prepare to take Father Carleson into custody and process him all over again. Make sure that this is done by the numbers.”

With a smile he couldn’t contain, Quirt nodded and left the office to continue the process he had already begun. He would do this by the numbers. But the numbers would be slightly shuffled.

Largely because there was nothing left to say, there was no further conversation in Koznicki’s office. In a matter of moments after Quirt had departed victorious, Tully and Mangiapane wordlessly left.

As they walked back to the squad room, Mangiapane suggested softly, “I think I smell an insanity plea coming up.”

“It’s about the only thing that might save him. But I don’t know if even that would work.”

But Tully had all but dismissed Carleson’s plight. The lieutenant’s thoughts were absorbed by Tony Wayne’s contribution to this case: one Julio Ramirez. With this latest development, it now seemed certain that Carleson had killed both Diego and Demers. Domers, as far as Kleimer was concerned, was frosting.

Tully could grasp the connection between Demers and Diego even better than Quirt.

If Carleson had been innocent of Diego’s murder, there would be no reason to act precipitately regarding Demers. But if Carleson knew himself guilty and was convinced that he would be convicted of killing Diego, the priest would know he would be imprisoned and thus unable to free Demers from pain and helpless misery.

Yeah, it all made sense. The killings went together. But what in hell was going on with Tony Wayne? Did he turn in Ramirez as a sacrificial lamb? And why?

As Tully and Mangiapane entered their squad room, which was now filling, Angie Moore called out. “Zoo, you got a call from the patrolman at Receiving who’s baby-sitting Ramirez. He says there’s a big guy who wants to see Ramirez-a really, really big guy. Says his name’s Albert, Albert Salveigh. The patrolman says it’s urgent.”

Albert. Big Al. Tiny. Wants to see Julio Ramirez. Now that is interesting.

Tully wanted to see Albert Salveigh see Julio Ramirez.